


Just Before Dawn

by curiositykilled



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bastardization of Norse Mythology, Blood Brothers, Brothers, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Does What He Wants, Mild Language, Morally Ambiguous Character, Near Death Experiences, Non-Graphic Violence, Platonic Relationships, and Marvel comics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:21:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because, really, after an alien invasion, the roof toppling in on her and making really terrible analogies, Jane's day just really needed to get worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saving Jane

                She was dying. Even without having studied anatomy past high school, Jane knew that the damage sustained to her pelvis and abdomen was far more than a regular human could stand. Maybe a super soldier or a god could take getting both hips and a good portion of their spine crushed, but the blood pooled beneath her broken body told her that she would not be so lucky.

                By now, she wasn’t really scared; she was pretty sure that had passed after the ceiling caved in and she realized she could no more move her legs than Helen Keller could read _War and Peace_. In hindsight, that wasn’t the best analogy, but she was a little more concerned on other things at the moment.

                Thor was a big one; they’d been dating (officially) for two and a half years now, almost to the date, and the entire team recently had begun hinting at a wedding. Jane wasn’t really sure she bought into that – Thor was immortal, so far as they could tell, so what would two or three years of ‘courting’ be to him? All the same, she loved him, and thinking of leaving him forever in the next couple minutes caused a pain like an appendectomy without anesthesia.

                Then, of course, came Erik. He’d been her father more or less since her parents died all those years ago – supported her through her graduate program, believed in her supposed insanity with the Einstein Rosen Bridge and even given his blessing over her dating an alien who’d dropped out of the sky claiming to be a god. She was determined, yes, but without his continued assistance and caretaking over the years, there was no way she’d have ever accomplished what she had.

                The team slipped in alongside Erik. Thor had been one thing, but when she’d been invited to work with Tony Stark – _the_ Anthony E. Stark – and live in the haphazardly renamed Avengers Tower alongside the superheroes who’d saved the world together and individually, well, she’d had to take a sudden seat on the couch to grasp the thought. Darcy was still around, too – they were all pretty sure SHIELD was just being stubborn and not letting her out of their grasp, not that she wanted to leave – and between her and Tony, it was a wonder anyone ever slept in the tower. The hijinks they got up to were enough to put Thor’s little brother to shame.

                “Ah. The woman.”

                Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

                “I have a name,” Jane spat out, startled by how much effort it took to rasp that.

                “Hush, now,” Loki murmured, crouching beside her.

                Gone was the armor and leather the trickster was generally spotted in, replaced instead by a loose grey t-shirt and plain jeans. It was a good look, Jane mused randomly before catching herself. She was about to be humiliated by her supposed future brother-in-law while she was in the midst of dying. Not the time to note that he looked better in everyday clothes than intricate armor.

                A cold hand sent a startled shiver down her body as Loki scowled, green eyes flitting closed; immediately, she could feel fire racing through her body. Magic, she assumed. He lifted his hand a moment and leaned into the chunk of concrete weighing down on her lower portion. As it moved, she decided that had to be magic, too (either that or near-death hallucinations) because there was no way anyone could just shove a hunk of concrete. As soon as the pressure was removed, two strong arms slid beneath her to lift her; she could only feel the one just below her shoulders, but she assumed the other was at her knees since she couldn’t feel any weight pulling down on her spine as it would if her body was just hanging.

                _Great_. Not only was she dying, but now Loki was going to kidnap her. _That_ could only end well, especially once the Avengers found out and went on their usual rampage to find her. On the bright side, she’d probably die before he could do anything to her, and maybe the team would actually get a chance to catch Undesirable No. 1. _Oh god,_ that’s _the bright side?_

                “This may sting a bit,” he murmured softly, and she realized with a start that she was lying on the ground again, though she seemed mostly level.

                His hand was once again on her shoulder like five slender ice cubes, and then the fire came back. Searing through the length of her body, it settled in her stomach and legs until she couldn’t see except for white, white burning pain. Her mouth opened screamed out without her bidding. Loki’s hand tightened, and after a moment, the burning lessened. Then, blessed, tingling cool slipped from his hand into her shoulder until it danced down to her toes and made them curl up in surprise. _Wait._ Toes… Confusion and horror filled her gaze. He was healing her before torturing her? Did his depravity know no bounds?

                “The Avengers should find you here,” Loki was saying, “but if they don’t, you should be fine to walk soon.”

                _Avengers…walk…_ his words filtered slowly through her mind, cloudy and broken up before it finally hit her. Loki had just saved her. Brows furrowing, she turned to him with a thousand questions in her eyes.

                “Why?” she managed to whisper. _Why save me? Why are you here? Why do you hate our world? Why do you have to hurt Thor? Why?_

He shrugged, green eyes grinning in a way that would make a single woman weep and nearly masking the hollowness beneath the fire.

                “It’s always useful to have a hero indebted to me,” he promised.

                Later, after she had gotten a thorough explanation of Asgard’s system of boons and debts from Thor and long after she’d stumbled into Captain America in the rubble, Jane pulled close to the thunder god’s chest and tried to stifle the cold encircling her torso. She couldn’t really be indebted to Loki; he owed the world so much from all his chaos that a little deed like saving one person was only throwing a handful of sand at his chasm of debts. And if he came calling, she’d tell him exactly that. Or call the Avengers.

                Settled on this, she closed her eyes and forced herself to feel relieved.


	2. The God at the End of the Tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Avengers go break into another super-dark-and-creepy villain lair, they don't expect their resident God of Lies to be the one to show them the light.
> 
> Some mild depiction of torture, but I don't think it's enough to really bother anyone.

             Aside from Jane's probably-hallucination, it was nearly three months before they heard from Loki again, which wasn’t entirely unusual; the trickster had a penchant for disappearing for a long time before pulling something huge and ridiculous – generally on whatever city the Avengers happened to be in. This time, however, they were notably less prepared.  
            “Fuck, I can’t see anything down here,” Clint complained into the comm, his fingers trailing along the grimy cellar walls to guide him.  
            The whole ‘dank, dark hole for evil plotting’ was really getting old. HYDRA, Doom – if they’d only pick something surprising, like a well-lit penthouse, they’d be way better off. As it was, the Avengers invariably found themselves stalking through reeking, sewer-fed pits while trying to find their bad guy.  
            “The switch is three steps to your left,” a familiar voice called out boredly.  
            “Fu- Loki?” Clint hissed, stumbling in surprise.  
            “Astute as ever, Hawk,” the god replied, blinking once as Clint flicked on the lights.  
            If he’d been in a conversational mood, Clint might have offered some taunting jabs back at Loki, but the sight of the god had left him instead struggling not to throw up. Bound by thin gold chains that were imbedded deep into his chest and arms, the trickster was bones and blood and too-white skin. Metal gleamed in his wrists with flesh half-healed over top, and his head lolled crookedly back against the wall, propped up slightly by the gold plate digging into his dried-blood-smeared throat. Bones protruded sharply along his hands and ribs, and Loki's hips jutted out just above the worn pants he wore. Evidently, whoever'd taken his shirt had liberated the god of his shoes as well.  
            "If you are to retch, please aim for their most valuable technology," Loki suggested casually.  
            "Fuck. How are you even - what the hell happened?" Clint finally demanded, swallowing his lunch for the second time that day.  
            "Oh, you know," Loki responded, waving his fingers airily, "Some mortal thought herself clever enough to chain a god. She will learn the folly of her ways soon enough."  
            Something in his tone reminded Clint of an icy knife's edge against his skin, but he brushed it off and moved forward and paced just out of Loki's reach. _He deserves it. Fucking psychopath_ , a snarling, tightly-coiled part of him hissed. Sure, Loki'd helped them once, but they were still enemies. Loki was bad, the Avengers were the good guys...

              ...and the good guys didn't leave anyone chained up in the dark.  
             Swearing under his breath, Clint collapsed his bow and dug around for his set of lock picks. Loki stared in unveiled surprise when the archer knelt and began working the locks to the chains free.  
            "Can't you just get your magic or whatever to free you?" He grumbled around the spare pick in his mouth.  
            "Yes, if I were able to access any of it," Loki answered shortly.  
            Clint rocked back onto his haunches to stare briefly at the god of chaos.  
            "You don't have magic," he wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question.  
            "These fairly well take care of that," Loki growled, lifting his wrists before leveling a hard glare at Clint, "Mind you, it would take no magic to crush your skull."  
             Clint couldn't help absently wondering if Loki had always been like this; it would certainly explain the whole friendless thing. _Didn't anybody tell him that threatening the person saving your life is a fucking dumb idea?_  
             "Yeah, right. Pretty sure even I could knock you on your ass," he scoffed, eyes following a series of cables that disappeared into Loki's flesh.  
             Green eyes narrowed in a look that would have petrified anyone who didn't live with a world class assassin, the Hulk and the god of thunder. Somehow, death glares were a little low on Clint's 'fear inducing list.'  
            "I have gone far longer than a Midgardian month without sustenance and still annihilated my captors. Do not think yourself so precious as to not serve as a replacement," Loki warned lowly.  
             "A month without - the fuck? You haven't eaten in a month and - do you even eat normally? You're like a fucking anorexia poster child," Clint objected, "You look like shit."  
             It was, undoubtedly, the least rational, most idiotic response to finding out someone hadn't eaten anything in a month, but seriously? Clint had never seen Loki eat before - even when under the Tesseract's sway ( _come to think of it, did any of us?_ ) - and somehow, it seemed it should have taken the god longer than a month to become so gaunt and jagged-edged. After all, both he and Thor seemed to bounce back from any beating they took; it made sense that neglect would treat them the same way.  
            "As I explained to Stark last we met, my body burns energy at a more accelerated pace," Loki answered stiffly.  
            "Hawkeye - do you read me?" Steve's voice demanded over the comm.  
            "Yeah, I hear you," Clint muttered back, clicking the last lock free.  
             "What's going on down there, Feathers? Need a flashlight to scare off the monsters?" Tony suggested.  
             Something in Loki's expression shifted from aloof to unreadable.  
             "Haha, yeah fuck you. Actually, uh I've got Loki," he explained, slipping his picks back into their pocket, "Long story. Do you want me to bring him in?"  
             There was silence for a short bit before the comm blared with responses.  
             "Loki?"  
             "The fuck is he doing here? I thought this was just-"  
              "Is my brother injured -"  
              "Clint, what are you talking about?"  
              Clint scowled, abruptly noticing what the cables in Loki's ribs led to. A large box, just a little shorter and narrower than Clint's height, hummed with a faint green energy that looked altogether too familiar. Cables from it led up onto the wall and disappeared into the ceiling.  
              "He's lucid but - uh - magicless," he explained, "Tony, I need you down here STAT; the rest of you will just have to hold the fuck on."  
              "I'm game for getting rid of the sexual tension between us, Legolas, but in a-"  
              Clint flicked off the communicator and went back to staring at the box.  
              "So they're stealing your magic," he surmised.  
              "Bleeding me of it while keeping it active and just beyond my reach," Loki agreed.  
               "How'd they manage to dupe you?" Clint asked.  
               "Only when compared to Thor am I not seen as reckless," Loki replied coolly - and _yeah, that makes a lot of sense, actually._  
               "How did you guys not get killed like three thousand years ago? 'Cause, if you're supposed to be mature adults, you had to have been fucking idiot teenagers," Clint mused.  
                Loki's face tightened and he withdrew, but the Iron Man repulsors were roaring in the corridor and Clint didn't have a chance to ask further.  
                "I thought you'd never call, buttboy," Tony taunted over the soft clanking of his suit before he noticed Loki, "Whoa - this is kinkier even then m- are those cables?"  
                The gold faceplate retracted, and Tony stared in mild morbid fascination at the bloodied god.  
                "Yes, Stark," Loki drawled, "Now, if it's not too much of an inconvenience, could you please decide what you are doing?"  
                For the first time in nearly four years, the Avengers had Loki more or less at their mercy. The thought was far less relieving and far more unnerving than they'd expected.  
               "Right. So, uh generator to battery to circuits," Tony muttered, glancing between Loki and the rest of the room, "Any idea how to get those out?"  
               "A knife would be easiest, though anything sharp enough would do," Loki replied mildly.  
               "Haha, yea- you're serious," Tony realized, the blood draining abruptly from his face.  
                _Who the fuck picks cutting themselves open as the fir-_  
               He was trying to rationalize the behavior of the psychotic Norse god of chaos. _Thor owes me a fucking swimming pool of mead after this. Fuck that. An ocean. They can have oceans of mead, right? I mean, he is the pri-_  
               "Here," Clint muttered, passing Tony a matte blade with barely any hilt.  
               Swallowing the apprehension that swam up his throat, Tony shed his helmet and gauntlets before kneeling awkwardly beside the skeletal god. Just as he was raising the knife to make an incision, though, Loki politely cleared his throat and caught Tony's eye.  
               "If you don't mind," he suggested pleasantly, "I'd rather do it myself."  
               "Ok, I know the whole machismo Space Viking culture did a number on. Your psyche and all, but that's fucking sick," Tony objected.  
               "This is nothing Asgard taught me," Loki replied, deftly slipping the knife out of Tony's shaky hand.  
               Though frigid, his hands were firm and steady even as Loki pressed the knife just below and to the left of his sternum and jerked, leaving a line of sluggish red trudging after. He switched hands for a moment, pale fingers wriggling underneath his own flesh and twisting for a few moments before pulling his hand out again with the gory end of one of the cables. His expression maintained the same mildly bored look throughout the seven repetitions of this procedure until he dropped the last one with a quiet sigh and wiped his slim, scarlet fingers off on a leather-clad thigh. Glancing up, confusion fluttered into his brow at the two Avengers; Clint had a white knuckled grip on his bow and was forcefully shoving his lunch back down again, and Tony was swaying slightly, his face sheet-white.  
               "What?" Loki snapped shortly.  
               He was excellent at dealing with pain - especially this sort of dissection-pain with which the Chitauru had so well acquainted him - but the lingering burning in his chest, as well the knowledge that he had no idea how to regain his magic except through slicing off his own hands, had conspired to make the slightest bit irritable.  
               "You just- okay," Tony clamped down before pulling his armor back on, "Hey, Cap, we're coming back up with Little Green."  
               Turning back to Loki, he paused.  
               "So, rejecting invitations is pretty shit back home, right? 'Cause I think I definitely owe you a drink now," he offered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the same thing as the one-shot I posted a bit ago. Sorry; I realized that it and 'Saving Jane' connected closely enough to have as chapters. Also, I fixed some of the million-and-five typos.


	3. First Dates and Moving In

Getting Loki out of the pit was, while easier than expected, harrowing. The god was notably taller than both men (even in the suit, Tony barely came to Loki's hairline), and his thin body shook with each step despite his haughty reassurances that no god would stoop so low as to require mortal aid (that the Avengers' two biggest smartasses managed not to bring up the last time Loki required their help or when Thor first fell to Earth was nothing short of a miracle); five minutes into their wet trudge, Tony had looped his metal arm around Loki's waist and started off on a rambling tirade about he and the god's imminent first date. Whether Loki paid any attention was impossible to tell: he maintained the same baleful glare directly ahead throughout the entire monologue. 

"Cap, we're about at the entrance. Keep Hulk occupied, will you?" Clint suggested into the comm.

If possible, Loki's livid face grew a shade more ashen, but his step didn't waver beyond its current unsteadiness. 

"The Other Guy's not around right now," Bruce's voice answered mildly.

"Damn. He and Bambi were so close," Tony snickered.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt the sharp clench of metal being crushed in around his wrist in the shape of five slender fingers and silently thanked whoever that Loki couldn't access his magic. He had little doubt that, could he, Loki would have set his whole suit on fire. Being a Stark, though, he couldn't help poking the snake a little more.

"Now, now, honey, I know you're excited, bu- holy fucking shit," he stammered, brain scrambling at the white hot pain burning through his arm and brain.

"Oh, my apologies," Loki purred, "I forgot how fragile mortals are; must be my overexcitement."

Light had just begun to glimmer off the shallow water and dripping walls, and Clint breathed a sigh of relief that the two wouldn't have much longer to needle each other. Tony had fallen silent in an effort to quell the searing pain in his throbbing arm, and Loki seemed too intent on merely walking to start a fight. Stepping into the blinding white of noon, the trio had to halt abruptly to blink away auras.

"Loki?" Thor's voice, oddly subdued, reached them, "Br- who did this to you?"

A faint frown worked its way through the pain to appear on Tony's face at Thor's stumble. The thunder god never pulled back when referring to Loki as family, and to hear him avoid it twice in a minute was...odd. He wasn't sure if Thor was finally learning or if he'd given up. Admittedly, the accumulating clouds and protective rumble in his voice at his question made the latter unlikely.

"No one of any interest to you, Odinson," Loki replied frigidly, the distaste in his voice unaffected by his bloody state.

Thor didn't flinch, but his hand on Mjolnir tightened, and Clint's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

"A'right," Tony started, "So, Beanpole over here pretty much fucked my flying up, so where's the quinjet?"

"Coming in now. Hold on," Natasha replied over the comm.

A soft whir belying the size of the jet sounded from above and to the north, and within a minute thirty, it was landed and the back lowering. Thor had stepped back to allow the trio to board before following them on. Clint slipped up to the copilot seat, and Tony sat beside Bruce, leaving Thor beside his estranged brother.

"Where's Steve?" Tony asked abruptly, glancing over the unfinished team.

"Fury wanted to talk to him, and Steve said to go on and get Loki to the tower," Bruce answered.

Silence stretched taut in the jet after that, lifted only by the occasional, quick remark muttered between the scientists or assassins. Thor studied his bracers resolutely, and Loki leaned his head back with his eyes closed. 

"Guys, you there?" Steve inquired over the comm as they touched down on the tower's roof.

"Just getting to the tower," Clint answered, "Why?" 

The other end was quiet for long enough for the team to dread the answer: Steve never hesitated unless he was debating how to break bad news.

"Out with it, Cap. The quinjet's getting a bright red paint job," Tony complained shortly.

Thor and Bruce both cringed at this response, no doubt reacting the same way Steve was on the other end.

"Fury wants Clint and Tony back here for briefing," Steve finally explained.

Taking one glance at Tony's botched armor and Clint's half-closed eyes, Natasha sighed and replied that she'd have them back in an hour. As the remaining three trudged off, though, she paused long enough to pull Bruce aside.

"The Parker kid and Strange are on call," she reminded quietly.

"We'll be fine," he replied, "Even in top shape, Loki can't get past Thor, much less him and the Other Guy."

She hesitated but nodded and returned to the jet, pulling up into the air while the hatch closed. Left behind with an uncertain thunder god and a tortured chaos god, Bruce forced himself to take a steadying breath before directing the other two down to the medical bay. He’d learned, last time Loki ended up half-dead at the Avengers’ doorstep, not to attempt anything like a physical on the god - even the barest touch, if made without first seeking permission, was wont to leave the offender with a broken wrist or at least severe burns - but, after a few moments’ persuasion, Loki was sitting stiffly on the edge of one of the medical beds so Bruce could tend his wounds. Thor had slipped away, citing something about Jane, and the tension gradually lessened, if only by a micronewton.  

“How long were you there?” Bruce asked, gingerly pulling some of the fine chain out of gashes in Loki’s back.

“A month,” Loki answered shortly, fingernails dug into his palm.

Glancing over, the doctor bit back a sympathetic wince and continued gently tugging the rest of the gilded chain out of the pale flesh.

“And this?” he queried hesitantly, pooling the thin, bloody strand on a nearby table.

“Gleipnir,” Loki replied before lifting a hand to rub absently at his brow, “though I haven’t a notion how they got their hands on it or whatever happened to Fenrir.”

Worry widened Bruce’s eyes at the casual mention of the legendary wolf, though he quickly consoled himself with the thought that surely, that part of the Eddas (like much of them) was exaggeration. Loki glanced over, knowing exactly what was flitting through Bruce’s mind.

“Asgard would be calling for her prince were the wolf loose,” he commented dryly.

It wasn’t exactly a reassurance, given the cold, mocking manner in which it was delivered, but Bruce reckoned that it was probably the closest Loki ever got to one. Finishing up on the bandages around Loki’s torso, he paused before the trickster’s hands. The thin metal bands were adorned with runes and half-encased in flesh. Thin, semi-translucent veins and taut tendons were stretched over top, shifting, splitting and sealing with each slight motion, and Bruce couldn’t help a clench of nausea at the thought of anyone enduring this for a month.

“I...I don’t know to...deal with these,” he admitted softly.

Loki didn’t bother glancing down, though his fist clenched and caused a small vein to nick on the edge of the band and ooze sluggish blood. The dark tone wasn’t enough to worry Bruce, but the sticky reluctance with which it clung to the god’s ashen skin was.

“The spells require some research, and then it is only a matter of cutting through the metal,” Loki explained after a pause.

Bruce nodded slightly, stifling the questions such as ‘where in New York City are you going to research spells?’ and settling for wrapping gauze around both wrists. Loki’s eyes narrowed and darkened faintly, but he didn’t object when Bruce directed him to Jane’s former rooms. The astrophysicist had long since moved into Thor’s, and it seemed like Loki would be hanging around for a while.

“JARVIS?” Loki queried once the door had shut.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson?” the disembodied voice responded evenly.

“Of all my kennings, you picked that?” Loki muttered tiredly, rubbing a hand across his face.

“According to Thor Odinsson and Sif Tyrsdotir, Asgardian names are customarily patronymical,” the computer explained needlessly, “as such, I corrected my database to fit the information provided by SHIELD. Is it displeasing?”

“Any of a hundred other names would be better,” Loki admitted before asking his originaly query, “Who owned this chambers previously?”

“This apartment was split between Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, Mr. Silvertongue,” JARVIS answered, “Miss Foster has since moved into your brother’s apartment, but Miss Lewis remains on the other half of the floor.”

Ignoring the misnomer on Thor, Loki let a thin, wicked grin slip over his feautres.

“Really? That is...quite fitting,” he chuckled, “Is Miss Foster in the building?”

“She is currently in her labs on the fifth floor of Research and Development, along with Thor Odinsson. Would you like to visit them?” the AI replied.

“No,” Loki shook his head, the smirk still faintly visible, “Not just yet.”

 


	4. Don't Scream at the Messenger

                “Thor! Oh, hey,” Jane greeted cheerily, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes as the god stepped into her lab.

                He smiled and replied with a kiss to her hand before stepping behind her and wrapping his strong arms about her waist. Relishing the fire-warmth from his contact, Jane leaned back into his broad, firm chest and let comfortable quiet fill the room as she jotted down the rest of the equation she’d been puzzling. Thor had learned better than to distract her while she was working, and his hands remained against her stomach even as his low, easy breathing ruffled her hair. Not that any of the team members would guess it – or, at least, Jane really hoped they didn’t – but those hands could be delightfully distracting when they wanted.

                “Alright. So, whatcha’ need?” she queried, tilting her head up to smile at her boyfriend.

                The somber expression on his features immediately wiped away the grin. Pulling away, she frowned and opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off.

                “It is my brother,” Thor answered, his low voice sending chills down her spine.

 _White-hot fire coursing down her body – ‘It’s always useful to have a hero indebted to me’ – terror and confusion –_ No. Jane forced herself to relax, to calm down fast enough that Thor wouldn’t pick up on the sudden tension lining her body. Hopefully, he’d simply think that her reaction was a natural one after the havoc Loki caused.

                “While we were doing battle today, Clint discovered Loki,” Thor explained haltingly, “He…he is injured and to stay with us for a time. I did not wish for you to be unaware.”

                “He – _what?!_ ” she yelped.

                _Clint? **Clint**_ _brought Loki home?!_ Panic coursed through her in an ultradose, far more potent than the brief flash when Loki was first mentioned. Thor had slowly been learning not to trust his brother, to push equally – _well, not equally. He’ll never completely give up._ – to what Loki gave, and now _Clint_ , the skeptical, cynical archer, _brought Loki home?_ _And how well did that go last time, dumbass?_

                “He will not harm you, Jane,” Thor reassured, his brow creased in confusion, “I assure you of this.”

“Thor, what are you thinking? He’ll burn down the entire building with us in it!” she snapped, “He’s _Loki_. His goal in life is to make everyone as miserable as he is!”

                Flinching back as if it had been her hand to whip out across his face rather than her words, Thor paused a moment. Another woman had to come to mind, one with once-gold hair and war for blood, who would say the same. For all Loki’s silver-tongued charm, he did not tend to do well with Thor’s favored maidens.

                “Gaaah. I’m going to _die._ Seriously, SHIELD better have good insurance be-” Darcy announced, strolling in through the door with a blanket wrapped over her shoulders.

                “Darcy, shut up,” Jane interrupted, “This is – _why?_ Loki barely let us live last time he was here, and he certainly hasn’t been doing anything other than making trouble for everyone since. I don’t care if he made freaking petals rain on Paris. It’s Loki.”

                Logic wasn’t being overly forthcoming at the moment, but all Jane could think of was the icy terror that melted down her back every time she heard the trickster’s parting words. She loved Thor, knew that he could never owe Loki anything because just letting the other god live was more of a favor than he deserved, but she also knew that he would pay any debt he believed he owed. And from his explanation, the boon owed for saving someone’s life was up to and including the debtor’s life.  

                “Jeez,” Darcy muttered darkly, “it’s _somebody’s_ least favorite time of the month.”

                “Just shut up, Darcy!” her friend snapped, turning back to Thor, “Thor, he can’t stay here. He’ll kill you – or the Avengers – or manipulate – he’s going to hurt you, Thor – it’s Loki, you know he will and what are we goi-”

                “I promise you he will not hurt you or I,” Thor repeated, trying to place comforting hands on her upper arms, but she shook them off.

                “Really? And why wouldn’t he? He hates all o-” she shrieked.

                “Jane. Loki won’t hurt anyone because he can’t use magic,” Bruce suddenly interrupted from the doorway.

                “Oh, and that’s going to stop a _god_ ,” she retorted.

                “My brother is a formidable foe without his magic,” Thor admitted, “but he is in no shape to do battle with any of us. You will find no enemy in him.”

                Her whole body shuddered in tiny, repetitive tremors, and her breath kept catching before releasing in soft, rapid huffs. How could they not see this? _Maybe because you didn’t tell them about his whole threat-thing?_ a little, dubious voice suggested.  Not that it’d do much good now; she’d been silent for a month, and explaining that little incident seemed like a surefire way to ruin her day. Week. Whatever.

                “If he hurts you,” she started, voice lower and more aggressive than usual.

                “I will take it,” Thor finished.

                _That is_ not _what-_ Jane couldn’t help protesting even as Darcy gave voice to the same thought.

                “Uh, that seems kind of dumb,” the younger woman pointed out.

                “Loki and I trained together for many a year,” the thunderer explained flatly, “If there is anything I know of him, it is that he will tire before I do.”

                It wasn’t reassuring, really, but at least her breath was coming back to her, only hiccupping rarely now. Fear still draped itself like a smug cat over her shoulders and neck, pressing downdown _down_ and her chest felt as though flat metal fingers were clenching tighter and tighter into her lungs. Thor’s hands, though, when she let them grip her gently, brushed away the languid cat.

                “Jane, I give you my word I will keep you safe,” he promised, kissing her forward in some sort of benediction.

                In the end, it was a futile gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for having such an irregular updating schedule; my life is kind of on the fritz at the moment.


	5. Rub a Dub Dub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Avengers bathe. Thank God.
> 
> Okay, not really, but there is bathing in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, my writing doesn't conjure any images/etc for me, but there is a lot of self-loathing/a little bit of blood in the first section if that will bother anyone. It's not graphic, but just in case.

A pile of previously-neatly wrapped bandages draped itself unhappily on the bathroom sink, already stained with the black-red of Loki's blood that now ran freely down his back and chest. Quiet _plip, plip, plips_ dripped into a widening red stain at his feet, but his distracted gaze was more on the filling tub before him.

It was a large tub, despite still being too short for him, and there was a small admission of relief at this somewhere in the back of his mind; he was no weakling, but not having to scrunch and distort the already-aggravated edges of his wounds was certainly a kind of blessing. Granted, that comfort was more or less nullified by the steam that hissed off his skin as he moved carefully into the bath. It wasn't quite as hot as the bath could go - without magic to heal himself, he wouldn't turn the temperature up to a blistering point - but it was enough that his skin yelped and then screamed in pained shock. Closing his eyes, he dunked under the surface, letting his body try - and fail - to adjust. Once he'd been submerged for a few minutes, he sat back up to scrub at his skin with one of the washcloths on the edge, watching the blood and flesh rip away and cloudy up the water. The bands remained smirking up at him with their rune-carved grins, and he ignored the way their glint showed even under the soft blooms of blood in water. He would get them off soon enough, and anyway, he was hardly defenseless even without magic. He would be fine. Taking a slow, steadying breath, he left his wrists alone and started working away the acquired grime of a month in a sewer. Already, he could feel the water cooling as the heat tried to diffuse into his cool skin, to melt it, heat it, into something else - something right - something not a - _No._

His heart was beating too rapidly, hammering stubborn and strong against his rib cage, and he dragged himself up to lean over the edge of the tub and catch his breath. He was generally less...consumed by what lay under his glamour (he wasn't going to say more accepting because _that_ would never ring true - he didn't _want_ it to ever be true), and he couldn't help a low, seething growl from forming in the back of his throat at this weakness.

Standing, he grabbed a towel from the rack over the toilet and wrapped it around himself before running a hand back through dripping, loosely curly hair. He glanced at the bandages and hesitated only slightly before drying himself off and rewrapping them. Sometime in the past millennia, his aversion to Asgard's healing rooms had led to quite a knack for mending his own wounds, and it was barely any time before the bandages were once more soaking up his blood while he sifted through the drawers in the bedroom. The computer had evidently transferred men's clothes into the dresser at some point, for which Loki thought a silent thank-you. It would have been humiliating to traipse around the tower half-naked in pursuit of clothing.

Dressed in a loose v-neck that showed the collar around the base of his neck but barely brushed his other wounds, the trickster sighed and folded himself cross-legged on top of the bed. He needed, desperately, to get to work on removing the metal tearing into his flesh, but he had only enough magic to sustain a glamour or summon the books he needed and he was so very tired. Leaning back, he grimaced slightly before carefully stretching his long limbs out on top of the coverlet.

"JARVIS?" he prompted drowsily.

"Yes, Mr. Silvertongue?"

"If anyone enters this room, I will personally dismantle your mainframe," Loki warned, his voice already sounding distant.

"Duly noted?" the AI agreed before pausing and adding, "Mr. Silvertongue?"

"Mm?"

"Sleep well, sir."

It took his already half-asleep brain a minute to register why that reminded him of Frigga. When it did, his forehead creased into a scowl and fists formed as he fell away from the world. He did not sleep peacefully.

\- • -

Tony had given up on the jet and flown home with his handicapped suit despite Steve's protests, taking with him their only conversation. The quinjet had been silent for most the ride except for Steve's occasional question about Loki and the rest of the team, and they sat in a certain amount of silent exhaustion until they landed. For a breath, Steve stared at the floor, gathering the will to stand, before heaving to his feet and trudging down the ramp. Clint followed once Natasha had turned the jet off and left the pilot's seat. They walked in silence for a while, strides perfectly matched, before Natasha paused. If the corridor they were in happened to be completely empty, well, she'd always had a knack for clearing a room.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

 _Is he in there? Is this the same as last time?_ went unspoken.

"Yeah," he nodded, meeting her gaze, "There's no blue."

_It's me - I chose this. He hasn't touched me._

Her shoulders, always loose and ready to go, relaxed slightly and she nodded, continuing down the hall. Clint watched her for a minute before averting his gaze and swallowing hard.

It was a reasonable, logical concern - Loki _had,_ however unconsciously, persuaded Clint to bring him home last time - but it didn't mean it didn't still sting to be doubted and watched so carefully.

Straightening, he followed the path she had taken and only deviated to take the stairs down to his floor. Each of them - excluding Tony and Thor, who shared with their girlfriends - had their own floors, and it was rare for anyone to intrude on someone else. Sure, they'd occasionally bump into each other in the gym or while raiding the liquor cabinet, and a few of them would watch a movie together, but they were still tenants in an apartment building. With Loki once again staying there, they'd probably meet up more but- _wait._ Loki.

Panic welled up in his chest at the thought of the god's whereabouts; it would be just like Tony to leave Loki in Clint's bedroom or something.

"Shit, shit, shit," he swore, patting himself down in search of a knife.

Finding one, he flattened to the wall and crept along to his open bedroom door. A cautious peek assured him that the god was not there, but that didn’t stop him from slipping through his entire apartment to check the rest of the rooms. Once he could safely say there were no chaos gods in his rooms (unless Loki was lying and did have enough magic to make himself invisible and was just using them), he slumped slightly in relief before an obvious thought hit him. _Med bay. Jesus Christ._ Of course Bruce wouldn’t let Loki just gallivant about the tower without getting tended to first. Hell, the god had been falling apart on the way out of the sewer - there was no way Bruce would just let that slide.

In all honesty, he probably should have been headed there, too. Glancing down at the bloody abrasions all along his side from where he’d skidded a little too hard across the ground after losing hold of Iron Man, he grimaced and headed to the bathroom. If SHIELD had its way, they would all hit up the med bay after every incident, but in reality, the only time the team found any of its members in there was when a limb had been lost (read: Steve when his shield, with his arm still strapped to it, had gotten caught in some machinery) or when they were all screaming in pain (read: when Loki decided to flash freeze and then scorch an entire city block and the frostbite/third degree burn combination was enough to have the Other Guy whipped). Little things like broken bones, lacerations and concussions were all dealt with either by Bruce or, far more commonly, by the injured member him/herself. This instance was no exception. Peeling off his vest and pants, Clint kicked them into the hamper and cranked the shower.

“Hey, JARVIS, where’s Steve having the team pow-wow?” he queried as he scrubbed at his short hair.

“Captain Rogers has asked the team to assemble in the penthouse lounge in an hour,” JARVIS answered dutifully.

“Is he bringing pizza?” Clint continued.

“I shall inquire. A moment, please,” the AI replied patiently.

Clint finished washing up and wrapped a towel around his waist while he waited for the answer. It was probably a ‘no,’ but he could hope that his repeated request would eventually break the team leader.

“Captain Rogers asks what type of pizza you would like,” JARVIS announced.

His head caught on the inside of the t-shirt he was pulling on, Clint still managed to pump his fist in victory.

“Boo-yah,” he grinned as the neck finally settled around his instead of the crown of his head, “What was the one I ordered like two weeks ago?”

“Meatlovers’ pizza with added anchovies, sausage and kale,” JARVIS answered promptly.

“K- did Tasha add that?” he demanded.

“I do not believe so,” JARVIS replied.

Clint paused a moment to wonder why the hell he’d add kale (in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what kale actually was) to a perfectly good pizza before shrugging and telling JARVIS to order. Leaving his room, he waited only a few seconds in front of the elevator before it, with Bruce, Jane and Darcy - wrapped in a garish lime and tangerine throw - arrived.

“Where are you guys going?” Clint asked of the two women.

“Cap asked as to come to the meeting,” Jane answered for the sniffling Darcy.

“Huh,” Clint offered as they ascended, “Thor?”

“With Mr. McEvil Pants,” Darcy sniffed before sneezing.

Recoiling from her sneeze, Clint caught the tail end of Jane’s grimace and offered her an answering one. Colds sucked, and as one of two normal (in a relative sense) humans on the team, he understood better than the more genetically superior members. The first time Clint had been down with the flu, Thor had stared at him and then asked if he was dying. Some things just didn’t transfer over species’ boundaries well. Jane seemed to startle at his look, and Clint had a moment of panic that he’d bashed in his face during the fight without noticing it, but before he could ask, the doors had opened.

“Clint, what the hell kind of pizza did you order?” Tony called, “And kale? _Really_?”

He grinned and followed Bruce out the elevator without noticing Jane still standing in the elevator, wishing it would keep going.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm really sorry this has taken so long to update - I tend to have absolutely no inspiration for this story because I've already written several other portions of it that I can't update. Luckily, I have had IDEAS. So I will try to write them. However, I'm also doing (or, more accurately, trying to do) NaNoWriMo, and I have very limited time in which to write, soo...
> 
> Hope you like it!


	6. Ground Rules

“So, for now, we follow the same guidelines as last time,” Steve finished, his arms crossed and a frown apparent, “No one is to be alone with Loki, he isn’t to leave the tower and no one is to instigate a fight.”

The Avengers Plus all nodded or mumbled assent around their pizza, none of them overly fazed by the rules. While Loki’d only been a resident here once before, none of the rules were much more than common sense. Which begged the question as to why there was a meeting anyway - but Steve was Steve: five of the eight people currently in the room were already betting on whether he thought Tony or Loki would be the first one to try to screw the other. (Tony was betting on Loki; “ _Not even a god could resist this ass._ ” They were all a little surprised and equally disappointed when Pepper hadn’t slapped him for that.)

“A’right. So, buddy system, don’t taunt the angry god and lock the doors,” Tony yawned, standing and stretching with a crackle, “I’m going to the lab.”

Steve frowned slightly, about to open his mouth, when Tony held up his hands.

“I’ve got JARVIS, and anyway, already checked; Beanpole’s out cold,” he explained, escaping backwards through the door.

“What time is it?” Clint asked, glancing over at Steve.

“Three,” Bruce answered, his voice distorted through a yawn.

“Do you wish to sleep?” Thor inquired quietly.

Jane, half-asleep as she leaned against him, shrugged slightly and stood. Her entire body was achingly alert and exhausted; with Loki in the building, she’d spent ninety percent of the meeting figuring out how to get out of her supposed debt, eight percent calculating the probable length of Loki’s stay and the remaining two percent debating whether or not she could kill him. Whatever Steve had said, she hoped it wasn’t important. Letting Thor’s hand dwarf hers, she walked with him to their room and changed into the loose t-shirt and pants she called pajamas without pulling her mind from its Loki-centric division.

“Jane?” Thor’s voice finally broke into her awareness as his hands settled firmly on her shoulders.

He’d crouched down in front of where she sat on the bed, his hands heavy weights stabilizing her. A cloud of worry seemed to hang over him, and she could hear the distant sound of thunder threatening the horizon. Offering a wan smile, Jane lifted her eyebrows in question.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked.

“I asked if you would rather stay elsewhere while Loki is under the Avengers’ custody. You have not seemed yourself since you heard of his presence,” he explained.

“What? No!” she yelped a little too sharply before she caught herself and modulated her tone, “I mean, I’m fine, Thor. I’m just a little tired. Having Loki here - it’s stressful, but that’s not why - I’m just tired.”

For a few moments, he didn’t move and just watched her face with that sad little frown he wore whenever he didn’t believe someone. Jane wondered, briefly, how hard it would be to be such an honest person in a world of liars. Her thoughts were brushed away, though, as he leaned up on the balls of his feet to kiss her forehead.

“Sleep well, then, Jane,” he murmured.

He stood and turned off the lights before sliding into bed beside her and pulling her to his chest. A small smile slipped over Jane’s lips, and she tucked herself into the bends of his body and was soon asleep.

Meanwhile, at the bottom of the tower, Tony was facing a small quandary. Straddling his swivel chair, he glared at the holographic screen currently apologizing in JARVIS’ British notes.

“I am most sorry, sir, but I am unable to access the metal on Mr. Silvertongue,” the AI replied.

“Why? Jarv, he’s in the tower, right? So, why can’t you just use your atmospheric sensors?” Tony demanded again.

Reaching for the smoothie on his desk, a dark green concoction that Pepper had suggested, he hooked his feet on the prongs of the chair and waited. After they’d rebuilt the tower the first time, he’d added gridded sensors in every wall, floor or other flat surface. Even the showers were equipped to detect chemicals or touch; there was no reason why JARVIS shouldn’t have been able to detect the metal on their current prisoner-guest-patient.

“I am...afraid that doing so would...revoke an... _agreement_ made with Mr. Silvertongue,” JARVIS hesitantly answered - _and holy shit, is that fear?_

“JARVIS, what did Loki say to you?” Tony asked.

There was a pause.

“JARVIS.”

“He threatened to disassemble me were he to be intruded upon,” the AI finally, reluctantly, admitted.

Tony blinked.

“He what?”

“He has hacked into our systems before, sir,” the AI replied, a tad huffily.

“JARVIS. Get the metal. I’ll deal with Loki,” Tony grumbled, taking another drink.

The AI was silent for a few moments, and Tony half-wondered if he was sulking. He had never meant to program JARVIS with that much personality. Although, really, he’d never heard his AI afraid before - worried, of course; harried, definitely; even frustrated wasn’t an uncommon tone - but _fear_? That was new.

“The main band of the restraints appear to be formed of defect free stellite, sir, and the center ring in which the runes appear is of an alloy containing silver and a non-earth metal, Sir,” JARVIS finally replied coolly.

“Defect free stellite?” Tony asked, leaning on his hand as the crystalline structure of the alloy appeared before him.

“Yes, sir. It appears that whoever was involved in Mr. Silvertongue’s capture was not of this planet,” JARVIS agreed.

“Great. Why do aliens even need that? Don’t they have their own unbreakable metals?” Tony grumbled, “The other metal - nothing?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the only recognizable element is silver,” JARVIS replied, a note of apology in his tone.

“Can you at least pull its molecule structure up?” Tony suggested.

“Yes, sir,” the AI answered promptly before adding, “The model will be ready in approximately seventeen hours and six minutes.”

“Jarv? Jarv, that’s not going to - why?” Tony demanded.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the molecule is of an unsettled nature and deducing the algorithms will take me approximately sevent-”

“I hate magic,” Tony muttered, watching the codes flicker across his screen.

He sat there for a few minutes longer before giving up and slinking upstairs to Pepper. The sun would be up soon, but he could probably squeeze in an hour or two before he absolutely had to get up. Then, he’d get to work on Loki and his mystery metal cuffs.

The sun rose slowly that morning, cautiously tiptoeing in the tower windows as if loathe to wake the exhausted team. Blinking drowsily, Thor sighed and kissed Jane’s mousy brown hair before gently removing himself from the bed. He had never been very good at sleeping past sunrise, and somehow, living on Earth hadn’t changed that much. After taking a quick shower, he wandered into the kitchen while pulling on a loose shirt.

His adolescent adventures had made cooking something of a required skill, and he had established the practice of cooking breakfast for Jane since he moved in. It was somehow soothing to whisk the egg yolks to a golden hue while watching the sunlight settle gently over the bleak city beyond. Without the rest of the team, he was able to just stand quietly and think - something he was sure the rest of the team didn’t believe he did. _Well_ , he hesitated. Natasha knew him better than that. Frowning slightly, he turned his attention back to the cooking eggs and away from his friend. She, at the moment, took the left of  his problems. Loki was foremost in his thoughts.

Thor had been striving to find some sort of match between how his brother felt and how he did. Talking to Natasha had helped, and even Tony had had a few helpful epiphanies, though he didn’t realize it, but Thor still stumbled over the thought that he no longer truly had a brother. He would always love Loki, always claim him and protect him with his life, but he understood that his brother could not accept this view (he did not _understand_ why, did not _agree_ with this twisted view), and that he could only hope to mend their relationship through following his brother’s lead. His heart was worn plainly for all to see, though, and trying to act opposite to how he felt was as unfamiliar to him as forthrightness would be to Loki.

Sighing, he gently nudged the golden eggs onto a plate and dropped a plastic bowl over top before tucking it into the microwave to wait until Jane awakens. Taking his own plate, he settled in front of the window and watched the muted sunrise while he ate.The dawns here were nothing like Asgard’s, but he’d found he did not mind that so much. Earth had many of its own pleasures that added up in their own way to being worthwhile. He sighed and leaned against the couch.

“Brother, what am I to do with you?” he breathed, running a hand back through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually considerably longer, but it made less sense being full-length. Hopefully this tides you over till I finish the next one ^^
> 
> Also, I gave myself about a twenty minute lesson on chemistry for this section, so if it makes no sense, tell me. I seriously just kind of researched things and hoped they made sense.


	7. Bruises

Loki had awoken shortly after dawn, his body protesting both the strangely long amount of sleep and strangely early hour of waking. He was used to sleeping little more than a few hours a week, and he never woke at sunrise. Even with his body snapped into complete awareness, he couldn’t help shoving his head under the pillow and trying to block out the sun. When this failed, he gave up and peeled himself up off the soft sheets before folding himself cross-legged on the ground.

He was wearing only a moderately strong glamour, the strongest he could allow himself with such small stores of seidr available, and he knew that he had the choice of maintaining the glamour or conjuring the spell books he needed from his usual pocket dimension. Taking a slow, deep breath, he focused on the collection of books he needed and pulled.

There was a quiet thud as a dozen books dropped down around him, all in neat stacs. Immediately, he could feel an itching sense of cold crawling up his fingers and arms like a hive of burrowing insects, and no amount of restraint could have prevented him from shuddering in horror at the vile sensation. The air was suddenly too warm, too thick with hot vapor, and even the light clothes he wore were too much against his chilled skin.

“JARVIS, you recall the warning I issued last night?” he asked mildly.

For a moment, the AI paused, and Loki had the insane thought that he would reply with some idiotic line such as those in the movies. _I’m not afraid of you!_ or some such nonsense. If a slightly hysterical giggle slipped out at the thought - well, there was no one there to prove it.

“Yes, sir,” the AI finally affirmed.

“Consider it considerably more vehement until further notice,” Loki replied.

Finally, reluctantly, he cracked open his eyes - and immediately scrunched them shut. _Norns, why is it so damn bright?_

“JARVIS, dim the lights,” he ordered, eyes still closed.

Once the sparking behind his lids finally lessened, Loki cautiously cracked open his overly-sensitive eyes again and relaxed slightly in relief. Not too much, though. His shoulders were still painfully tight, and he was forcefully breathing in and out, _in and out_ , to stave off the blinding panic that skittered frenetically at the edge of his mind. He could not stand to lose control in this place.

It would take him several days to store up enough seidr for a decent glamour again, and until then, he needed to work on the spells. As he reached a hand for one of the aged tomes, though, he stiffened and halted mid-motion (‘froze’ would have been the best verb, but, much as he loved word games, half a breath away from a panic attack was not the time for puns.) at the sight of his carved blue arm. It was the first that he’d ever seen, back so long ago on Jotunheim with his brother and the Idiots Three, the first one to betray him, to show him the monster under his skin, the reason why all the world would mock and screa-  Dragging himself back into reality, he forced himself to straighten up, remove his head from his hands and relax his legs out from their tightly tucked position.

Standing jerkily, he stalked out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. Water. He just needed a drink. Of course, directly above the faucet was a damned, damned, thrice-damned mirror. He spared a brief moment to be envious of the monsters he’d once read about who were so corrupted as to not even project reflections into the mirrors. Once it was over, he slammed the heel of his hand into the glass and watched it jump and crackle out into jagged shards across the floor and down the sink. Each one reflected back a hint of blue, a hint of red, a hint of _monster_.

“My, my, I see we’ve gone native,” Amora’s amused voice ripped Loki out of his spiralling reverie.

Turning his gaze ever-so-slightly, he glared up at the Enchantress, unfazed by the way the slit of her dress slid promisingly over the gap between her legs.

“I’ve no time for you, Amora. Leave,” he snarled, hating the hoarse way his voice twisted and growled out of his chest.

It wasn’t him wasn’t him _wasn’t him -_

“Oh, poor little Loki didn’t mean to do this?” she purred with an overly sympathetic pout as she sauntered over and leaned across to trace a ridge on the base of his neck.

She was wearing a typically low-necked dress that, with him hunched over and her pressing close, had her bust half in his face, but Loki hadn’t gone rigid at the proximity of her endowed chest. It was, instead, at the way his blue flesh crawled away from her touch and melted back into not-Aesir white. Relief, pure and complete, slumped his proud shoulders down and caused a not-so-quiet breath of relief to huff out of his chest. Amora, for her part, looked disgruntled and crossed her arms in vexation.

“Well, that was disappointing,” she sniffed, turning to study the bedroom, “and I imagine I won’t even get a thank-you for it. Not a proper one, anyway.”

Behind her, Loki’s teeth ground into each other. After quitting the Avengers’ hospitality the last time, it hadn’t taken him overly long to discover his utter distaste for any contact or intimacy. It hadn’t bothered him at first because surely, it would pass, and anyway, he had never been an overly touchy person, but as the years went on, it had started to get to him. While admittedly low on blood supply and high on alcohol content, he had admitted as much to her. Amora’s suggestions had been, of course, unhelpful and mostly humiliating. That her favored one was just to go out and fuck as many people as he could didn’t help considering the very idea of _anyone_ touching him again, much less dozens crawling over him like his former hosts, was enough to have him shaking and his mind throwing back all the memories and agonizing, burning touches as if to say ‘never, never again.’

Pushing that aside though, Loki turned roughly and grabbed her wrist, turning Amora around. He pulled her into a kiss, and she smiled against his lips at the war she could feel within him. He didn't want this, did want this, didn't - _should._ It was the last one that made him let her push him back onto the bed and straddle his narrow hips. Smirking faintly, she lowered herself till she was nearly flat on top of him and met his gaze. His pupils weren't blown wide with lust, his eyes weren't hooded with desire; she could see just a tinge of well-hidden panic, and the rest was all Loki. Chaos and control and emptiness.

"I want you blue," she purred into the shell of his ear.

His breathing halted for a moment there, stuck halfway through an inhale, and she watched as hatred butted head first into the panic in his eyes. When she didn't yield, though, he did, and she smiled sweetly as he closed his eyes and his skin gradually darkened into a dusky hue. His skin was suddenly much rougher where she could feel it, and instead of the usual slight chill of Loki's skin, there was a void beneath her that didn't suck her heat in as much as it pushed it away and replaced it with a frostbite burn.

Loki opened his eyes enough to glare at her, and she smirked briefly, watching these bloodred orbs. He was much more expressionless like this, with just solid red glaring up and it was strange to guess at his thoughts without the expressive green she was used to.

Flicking her fingers and murmuring a quick incantation, she removed their clothes and left them hanging neatly on a chair by the desk. In another age, they would undress each other languidly and enjoy the gradual stages of undress, but not now. It was just business and hurt today.

Amora paused above him, surveying his body. She could pick out the half-circle ridges on his forehead that named him the son of a king _(never a king himself)_ and the sharp angles on his cheeks that told his lineage and the irregular lines that ornamented his wrists with the sign of a mage, even around the runed metal. With his garnet eyes dark with hate and every long muscle tense under that cerulean expanse, he was beautiful. From past lovers, she knew how sensitive those darker edges would be than the rest of his skin, and she knew, for once, he was the inexperienced one. The thought almost made her smile. She drowned the wonder of why she only loved what hated her by leaning down into the edge of his neck.

"Freak," she purred, biting down on a prominent ridge until she tasted the salty tang of blood.

When they were done and both covered in bruises and scratches, she sighed a contented breath and washed them off with a brush of magic. He had shifted back, making the marks far more prominent on his pale skin. The splotch on his neck looked like someone had spilled an inkwell just under his skin, and she couldn't help a vaguely smug smirk. He hated bearing marks almost as much as she loved giving them (once he'd worn a glamour to disguise any bruises or scratches she gave him, and she'd spent most of an hour working at his skin until he finally, laughing, dropped it; his skin had looked like Thor had pummeled him with Mjolnir, but he'd healed them like nothing), and with such little magic, he was stuck with them. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss into his neck before vanishing along with her clothes.

Loki sighed, his body loosening in her absence. Once upon a time, he'd rivaled Fandral with the extent of his conquests. Now, the merest touch or hint of intimacy left his body screaming in panic. He could force himself through, focus on the nearly destroyed part of him that could still find pleasure in sex, but it was work far more than release. Another parting gift of the dead Titan.

His body was aching to shower, to scrub and rub raw his flesh, and he stifled a frustrated growl at this pathetic response. Finding his own clothes neatly folded, Loki pulled them on roughly and allowed himself only a brief glare at his reflection in the window frame. The bruises looked like tattoos with how dark they were, and unless he wore a long-sleeved turtleneck, they would be plenty apparent.

“Is Stark in his workshop?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir,” the AI replied, “Shall I notify him of your approach?”

“Don’t bother,” Loki growled, yanking the door shut harshly.

                He’d spent plenty of time in Stark’s laboratory during his previous stay – between his inability to do much of anything during that time and his brother’s hovering proximity, there would have been no minor catastrophe without Stark – and it took only a few minutes for him to reach the lower lab. Stark barely glanced up at the soft hiss of his doors opening – but, then again, that could have been due to the painfully loud noise blaring out of some unseen speaker. Unsurprisingly, Loki could spot a floating image of his bindings glowing blue in front of Stark. A twitch of the mortal’s hand sent the model flying out to pieces, its most basic parts enlarged and enhanced in front of Stark. Loki’s lips quirked faintly at the eerie similarity it bore to his own seidr. Not, of course, that Stark would ever allow that comparison.

                Striding forward, Loki couldn’t help a small smirk as Stark hummed and sashayed in front of his workspace, completely heedless of the approaching god. A step away, Loki shifted naturally into the sleek, alluring skin of a dark-haired, jade-eyed goddess before leaning in with her hands on either side of Tony and her lips brushing his ear.

                “Hello, Stark,” she purred.

                The effect was instantaneous. Tony leapt, his hands flying out for his suit, and Loki shifted back to his Aesir shape as he ducked from the oncoming gauntlet. As soon as the gauntlet crashed into Tony’s hand, the mortal had realized what was going on and gave Loki a look that was halfway between laughing and shooting the repulsor at him anyway. Spotting the dark bruises half visible on the god, though, his attention was diverted.

                “JARVIS said you had a visitor, but I didn’t realize it was that intense. Who was it, the horse again?” he taunted, turning back to his work.

                _Mortals and their myths_ , Loki mused, stepping up to watch over the mortal’s shoulder. He was only glad they didn’t know the truth behind that particular tale.

                “Oh, you know how it is,” he replied agreeably, “There’s just only so long one can go without fucking livestock.”

                


	8. You're Some Freaky Shit, My Brother

               Neither god nor human glanced up as the lab’s doors hissed open, and Thor hid a grin at the fiercely intent look that Tony and Loki shared as they glared at the holograms, the mortal’s hands gripping the underside of his table and the god’s arms folded loosely over his chest. Whatever was rotating slowly before them was in pieces too complex for the Thunderer to understand at first glance, and he didn’t bother trying to study it further; instead, as Loki reached out to point with a slim finger some abnormality or important trait of the thing, Thor paused quietly by the door.

           “Yeah, I get that – wait a minute…” Tony ducked his head, typing something rapidly into his keyboard while Loki watched on curiously.

           “Mm,” the god hummed faintly, but the screen flashed scarlet and he sighed in frustration.

           Seeing his brother’s eyes narrow in that way that inevitably preceded destruction of some kind, Thor stepped forward and hoped his cheery smile didn’t seem too false.

           “Loki, I wondered if you would not care to join me in a sparring session,” he invited, letting his voice boom out in his usual clueless volume.

           Both men flinched in surprise, and Thor maintained his naïve expression. Somewhere along the line – it seemed, to him at least, to have been when they first gathered on the Helicarrier – the team had more or less dubbed him their clueless idiot to the point of Tony occasionally letting it slip that Thor was a “puppy.” The thought riled up under his skin, but then again, he’d lived with Loki calling him ‘oaf’ and ‘idiot’ for the past thousand years. He could take the good-natured underestimation from his friends.

           Loki’s gaze slipped to Tony, who shrugged as if to say ‘don’t look at me.’

           “I’m just going to plug in some sims for Jarv to run, and then I’m out of here,” he answered.

           Turning back to Thor, Loki let an impassive ‘very well’ out and edged around the table and holographic displays to leave with Thor. Their walk to the gym was mostly quiet except for Thor’s heavy tread and the soft whisper of Loki's. Even barefoot, his feet seemed to thud far more heavily against the ground than Loki’s; it was something that, when they were kids sneaking about Asgard, he had always envied his brother. To make up for this failing, he’d always mocked Loki about being a sneak.

           Once the gym door hushed open, Thor let a silent, relieved breath out at its lack of occupants. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve said if one of his teammates were in there: “please leave because you’re going to think we’re killing each other when really that’s just how we spend time together?” Admittedly, they’d recently spent far more time together with Loki trying to kill him than in a friendly fight, but that was beside the point.

           Loki had tugged his hair back from his face in a ponytail that was as messily bad as Thor’s was whenever he attempted the same. He’d eventually given up and just let Natasha or Darcy do it. Now, ducking under the ropes of the sparring square – the others called it something like ‘boxing,’ but that had genuinely never made sense – Thor felt a tug of relief at their shared inability.

           They started off lightly, with Thor throwing the first punches and Loki ducking out of their way with old, familiar ease. As always, Thor was the one who edged in on the offensive, blocking Loki’s jabs by throwing his own, and Loki retaliated with sharper, thought-out blows.

           “You’re enjoying your – _uff_ – mortal vacation, are you?” Loki queried after they’d been sparring for a few minutes.

           “Yes,” Thor agreed pleasantly, slamming a knee into Loki’s thin side, “and you?”

           Loki ducked under the next punch, socking his brother’s gut as hard as he could.

           “I’d call it more of a working holiday,” he corrected, “and quite pleasant.”

           Despite himself, irritation rippled under Thor’s skin, and he ducked his head to grab Loki around the waist and drag him to the floor. In hindsight, he’d forgotten about Loki’s long, muscular legs, and he immediately regretted the decision as those legs began pummeling his back with sharp, hard heels.

           “Really – _urgh_ – ? And for – _uff_ – whom are you – _gu_ –  working?” he spat out.

           Loki laughed at this, though the laughter was quickly broken by a hit to the face.

           “Myself, of course,” he still managed to chirp back, socking Thor in the throat.

           Caught off guard and suddenly out of breath, Thor choked, giving Loki a chance to scramble to his feet. A swift, brutal kick to Thor’s face knocked the Thunderer onto his elbow, but his hand shot out, yanking Loki back to the ground. Loki’s next kick was caught by Thor’s hand, the narrow foot fitting neatly in his brother’s broad palm. A vicious expression twisted at Loki’s lips as struggled to free his legs.

           “You idiot,” Thor growled, “You think – _ffu_ -”

           He was caught off as Loki finally freed his foot and slammed it into Thor’s wrist, breaking his grip on Loki’s ankle. Automatically, both shot to their feet, circling each other warily.

           “Oh, _I’m_ the idiot?” Loki chuckled, feinting away from a blow, “You’ve learned to fight back. I’m so _proud_.”

           Bolting forward, Thor’s fists typewriter into Loki’s forearms as the thinner man ducked behind them.

           “You – think you’re – so much – better than – me just because – you’re hurt,” he snarled, “It doesn’t – work that way! We all – get – hurt – but – _we_ grew – up.”

           It was anger and exhaustion with this tired argument that caused the words to burst out of Thor’s mouth as he hammered into his brother’s arms. He had been hearing the same bile spew out of his brother for nearly five years now, and he was _tired_.

           “And doesn’t that just make you golden, _brother_ ,” Loki hissed, his sharp knee hitting Thor hard enough to cause a stutter in the blonde’s blows, “Yet another way you – _hu_ – outshine me. Aren’t you – _uf_ – so glad – to – please – the All-father?” – he managed to duck out of the way and a few steps from Thor – “Now, if only you could just cull the runt, wouldn’t he be proud?”

           The dig didn’t even stab Thor anymore; it only added to a dull, throbbing ache that had been burrowing and enlarging its hole in his chest ever since he’d gotten a face full of the Destroyer’s fist. A low growl echoed from his throat, and he lunged forward to grab Loki by his shirt front. Some small part of him noticed the bruises along Loki’s exposed skin as well as the raw edges of his flesh where they met the binding metal, and he automatically adjusted his grip to one that kept pressure off the more sensitive points.

           “Have you forgotten everything? Have you forgotten our mother and what she died for? Have you forgotten everything that we have been through, before and after this idiotic madness?” he snarled, his face close enough to see the different shades in Loki’s eyes and feel his breath pant against his skin, “Because if you have, you are no brother of mine, and you can leave here and never be bothered with us again.”

           He stepped back as he uttered the last part, setting Loki back on his feet. His chest was heaving up and down, frustration and pain and anger roiling and constricting around him till he felt as if his ribs were cracking in against him and threatening to puncture his lungs and heart. Loki stared at him for a few moments, his brow faintly furrowed and something strange in his expression.

Then his knees simply buckled, and he slid down to sit on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hand. Thor froze, stunned. His brother wasn’t crying, so far as he could tell, but the crumpled angle of his shoulders as he folded in on himself was the most honest emotion Thor had seen from him in years. If he was honest with himself, it was the most honest emotion he’d seen since they were boys, before Loki decided that he could only trust himself.

           Instinctively, though, Thor knelt, wrapping his broad arms around his brother and holding him close. He was so thin, so much frailer than Thor last remembered, and Loki’s entire body shook with faint little tremors. He seemed, for the briefest moment, like the brother Thor had fought and comforted and loved.

           Then, abruptly, Loki twisted, the shaking gone as the heel of his hand crashed sideways into Thor’s nose, cracking it with a sickening sound that was too loud to be that close, and he stood smoothly, kicking Thor over as the other man grabbed at his face to stop the blood, too startled at the shift to fight back adequately.

           “You fool,” Loki snarled, “I’m not your brother.”

           When Thor had regained enough sense to stand, his brother was gone, but the entire team had assembled around him in a panic. Steve was talking at Tony, his shoulders braced aggressively and hands gesturing rapidly; Clint leaned against the wall, an inscrutable expression on his face as he studied the floor and waited for the fallout; Natasha, though, was crouched beside him with her eyes hooded.

           “You want to talk?” she asked, neither persuading or dissuading him.

           “It was just a sparring session,” Thor sighed, though, with his hand pinching his nose, there were considerably more “th’s” than he expected, “It just got out of hand.”

           Somehow, Natasha understood him through the lisp and nodded, standing. A few quick strides brought her to Steve, who she cleanly interrupted and explained to. The captain glanced over her shoulder at Thor, who was still sitting on the edge of the ring with his broad shoulders slumped somewhat forward, and finally sighed, relenting.

           “He’s just saying that to protect Loki,” he pointed out, just to make sure she knew he wasn’t fooled.

           Natasha smiled wanly at him.

           “They’re brothers. What do you expect?” she replied.

            Six stories above them, Darcy hesitated, one hand raised to knock. She’d heard the yelling and panicking downstairs, and Loki’s door was just slightly ajar, which didn’t bode well, but she really seriously needed Kleenexes, and she was pretty sure that Mr. I’m-an-Immortal-God didn’t get the common cold. _C’mon, Darce, at least if he kills you it’ll probably be sort of quick. I mean, it’s not like he can torture you with the entire Avengers downstairs…hopefully_. Shoving the possibility of him being able to control time, magically soundproof a room or otherwise manage to make torture an option, she rapped gently on the door. No reply from within came, and the door slowly swung a little further.

           “Loki? Hey, Lokes – you in here?” she called warily, stepping a cautious foot over the threshold, though her body was still mostly protected by the door.

           She really wasn’t sure how much protection a plain wooden door offered against an evil sorcerer, but hey, it was better than nothing, right? Tiptoeing across the room towards the door to the bathroom – the apartments in Stark-cum-Avengers Tower all had pretty much the same layout – she grew increasingly relieved at Loki’s apparent nonpresence, until she actually made it to the bathroom and froze.

           Of course, her first thought was the entirely irrational wonder at where the mirror was – she knew for a fact that, back when Jane still used these rooms instead of Thor’s, there had been a plain white-framed mirror over the sink. And then – _oh hey_ , there’s a busted up demi-god bleeding over the sink and sort of looking like he can’t breathe! Whaddayaknow.

           She froze, then, because damn, Loki looked like shit. And he definitely didn't look like the skinny bookworm Thor had described - sure, he wasn't jacked like Thor, but he was definitely ripped in his own, lean way. But back to the looking like shit. His whole back, most of it anyway, was covered in a rough, scratchy abrasion like he'd rubbed up too hard against a brick wall (cue all sorts of inappropriate thoughts running through her head with _that_ one), and she could see bruises growing all over his neck, chest, arms and back.

           "Don't worry, Miss Lewis," he abruptly murmured, "I've no intention to harm you."

           And that, for all the venom and evility in his tone, was scarily reassuring.

           ”Yeah, I kind of figured that. What’d you do - take on the Hulk?” she snorted.

           Loki’s back stiffened, and she could see enough of his face to note the tightening of his jaw and thin lips. He straightened slowly, cracking some of the scabs on his back from which red began to reluctantly trudge, and turned to face her. That, she decided, was freaky - especially with the way green was burning in his eyes like the fire he’d conjure up in a battle. If Darcy Lewis was a wise woman, she would have fled at this point. She did not.

           “Why are you here?” he demanded coldly, all civility gone.

           Oh, right. She wasn’t actually here to check out and taunt beat up, sort-of sexy supervillains. Oops.

          “Uh, you have Kleenexes?” she asked.

          For the briefest moment, she felt a flush of victory at Loki’s blank face before he stepped to the side and opened the bottom of the sink with the tips of his fingers. She paused just a second before crouching, grabbing the unopened tissue box, and standing in record time. That something hadn’t cracked into the back of her head and killed her was definitely counted as a victory. That her life had gotten to the point where not getting killed while getting a Kleenex box counted as a victory was not.

          “Okay, thanks,” she called over her shoulder while hurrying from the room. There was no reason to press her luck.

          Outside his door, she leaned back against the wall to take a deep breath and had her face immediately assaulted by the world’s most violent sneeze. Of course.

        “Well, ‘least I’ve got you,” she muttered, ripping open the cardboard box and liberating the ‘ultra plush’ white tissues.

         It was time for hot cocoa, a snuggly blanket and good old Monty Python.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did that make any sense? I really suck at fight scenes, so I was watching a couple of MMA sparring matches and holy crap: one guy (the one I was ref'ing for Loki) got bent into a pretzel and then pummeled by the other guy. It was intense.
> 
> title comes from a JR Ward quote


	9. Rules? What Rules?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> totally random Natasha/Loki time. YAAY! Also, Jotun!Loki! and Alf!Loki and Vanir!Loki! ALL THE LOKIS. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm really sorry.

               Two days passed uneventfully after the brothers’ fight. Thor’s nose healed in the first night, and Loki barely left his room except when Tony thought he might have made a break through. He hadn’t, and the god returned to his room. After her offer to talk was quietly but firmly rejected by Thor, Natasha found herself hesitating in front of Loki’s door, jacket folded over her forearm. The trickster was hardly amiable even after the strange incident that brought them to be blood siblings, but she was sick of him locking himself in his borrowed rooms while his frustration pulsed dully through their bond and echoed faintly in the back of her mind. When Thor had haltingly explained what blood magic meant, she had never expected to have a constant cue of Loki’s moods or a rune on her palm that occasionally shifted into a strange cerulean and back to ivory.

           Lifting her hand, she rapped lightly on the door and waited. Irritation flickered through their bond as well as a faint debate over opening the door or not. Despite herself, Natasha rolled her eyes.

           “Loki, it’s me, Natasha,” she called, and a huff of resignation passed through.

           She couldn’t hear his steps as he approached the door, which didn’t surprise her, but she was startled to find his shoulder-length hair tugged up into a messy knot at the back of his skull and all his scars apparent. Blinking once, she composed herself and ignored the faint white marks that gleamed dully as his skin moved in the window’s light.

           “I was going out and wondered if you’d join me,” she offered, not bothering to cheer up her voice or apply any false invitation in her tone.

           Much to her chagrin, she’d discovered that Loki’s name of ‘God of Lies’ was as true as Thor’s ‘God of Thunder.’ No direct lie could pass by him undetected just as no storm could not be ordered by Thor, and most misdirections were caught as well. Having a magical bond that allowed him to know a hint of her emotions on top of that didn’t really help.

           Loki’s brow furrowed faintly, and she waited before he glanced back into the room, the movement of his eyelids revealing pale lines from when those thin shields of skin had been dissected and removed. Turning, he left the door open as he padded across the room to find shoes and a coat, and she let herself in to sit in a desk chair while he pulled on Converses she’d made him buy when he was last here, three and a half years ago. She wasn’t altogether surprised that JARVIS had kept the shoes, but it still made her hide a smile. Whether he felt the subtle shift in her mood or just her eyes on him, Loki glanced up quizzically.

           “I didn’t realize JARVIS had kept your stuff,” she explained with a slight shrug.

           He hummed faintly in response and finished tying the laces with a knot that didn’t have a bow before fixing his jean legs over the tops. When he’d last been here, after his body had healed enough to be perambulatory, she and Tony had tugged him out of the tower to do some shopping (or, more accurately, to keep Thor from hovering over his baby brother), and these had been the only shoes Loki could stand, although he still complained about the flimsy canvas fabric. Tony had been about to suggest they look at women’s boots if Loki was really that dead set on leather, but Natasha had only barely managed to silence him; even if that was her next recourse, she hadn’t been about to _tell_ Loki that the shoes were for women. Anyway, she was pretty sure that the store didn’t carry women’s 13s.

           Once he’d tugged on a leather jacket from that same excursion and a scarf Tony had insisted on, Loki gestured for Natasha to lead the way from the room. She wasn’t altogether surprised that, before he stepped through the door, his glamour had returned to cover up every speck of scar tissue and leave his skin as smooth and unblemished as before. Without all the scars, it was disturbingly easy to see him as the late teen he was in Asgardian years.

           “Where are we going?” Loki queried.

           They were halfway through the painfully long trip down the stairs – Loki hated elevators along with other tight spaces and Natasha was sure that either Tony or SHIELD had cameras recording every second in them – and he’d finally broken the otherwise steady silence.

           “There’s a little park I found a while ago,” she explained, “It’s sort of out there, but it’s quiet and away from this.”

           He nodded slightly, and for the rest of the three-quarter mile hike, neither spoke. Natasha was struggling to keep her mind separate from her emotions as she plotted how best to bring up the real reason for their excursion, and Loki was watching the people pass them by with the occasional flicker of curiosity when something caught his eye.

           Thor had outlined their argument as briefly as he could, and running back through the checklist of familiar themes – denial of family, check; attachment and immediate dismissal of mother-figure, check; apparent display of weakness followed by violence, check – she’d devised a plan to get Loki to talk. She was under no illusions that he’d actually open up or be a better person even if her idea worked, but the worst that could happen was the death of her or one of the very few bystanders who visited the area. She was willing to risk it for the potential dispersal of Thor’s gloomy attitude and Loki’s hermitude.

           “I didn’t want to just take a walk with you,” she started as they reached the park.

           Loki hummed; of course.

           “SHIELD has been using Thor to expand our catalogue of foreign species,” she continued, watching him carefully while making sure to use only truths at the moment, “but it’s pretty limited with him beyond their physical weaknesses and strengths. Since you’re a shapeshifter and somewhat more traveled than Thor, it seemed like you might be better help.”

           He was eyeing her now, the skepticism plain on his face, but she’d been careful to use no direct lies. He could suspect all he wanted, but he couldn’t call her out yet. After all, everything she’d said was true – to an extent.

           “Only because I’m a shapeshifter?” he inquired doubtfully.

           She shrugged.

           “So far as I know. If Thor was, we’d just ask him,” she agreed, “He is, after all, somewhat more on our side.”

           He nodded, turning green eyes to watch the snow twirling lazily down. She wondered idly if he realized his shoulders hunched in and hands shoved deeper in his pockets even as his neck and face tilted more towards the falling flakes.

           “You thought a park was the best place for this experiment?” he asked.

           “Hardly anyone comes here except us Avengers, usually,” she replied.

           For a few more moments, he was quiet, and they kept walking along the snow-dusted path. They were reaching a small, patio-like outcropping of sidewalk before he finally sighed.

           “Very well,” Loki relented, “What do you wish to see?”

           Relief fought to swamp her, but Natasha shoved it forcefully to the side to maintain her placid demeanor. Anyway, relief would be normal, right?

           “Thor said each realm’s inhabitants are unique, so we can just go along this list,” she suggested, perching on one of the benches with her Stark phone while Loki stood before her, muscles still bundled tight around him, “starting with Vanaheim.”

           Whatever Loki had been expecting, it wasn’t that, and he relaxed infinitesimally as he shortened and thickened slightly, his face rounding and green eyes narrowing into darker slits even as his thick black hair found its way into a half-up, half-down style. Straight, thick brows settled evenly over his eyes, though one immediately quirked itself in a distinctly Loki style.

           Switching apps to the camera, Natasha shot a couple quick snapshots. While she was mostly lying, she would use the pictures and information for SHIELD’s database; Thor really did only have limited information on the other races and no way of getting images of them.

           “So what’s different between Aesir and people from Vanaheim?” she asked, flicking to the voice recording app.

           “The Vanir and Aesir sprang from common roots, so there is less distinction than between other realms,” Loki started, his voice lower and accented, “but they are more magically endowed and most seers are of Vanir blood. After the Vanir-Aesir war, they have become little more than a darker cousin to Asgard.”

           “Mhm. Alright, next is Alfheim,” Natasha hummed, switching back to camera.

           Immediately, Loki returned to looking like himself – or, not quite. His face was narrower and skin a little more golden in hue while long, straight blonde hair spilled down his back. His eyebrows were still dark, but overall, he had the ephemerality of a fairytale.

           “Well, hello there, Legolas,” Natasha laughed.

           A faint smile twitched at his lips, and the skin around his soft brown eyes crinkled at the comment. Then, she was asking questions, he was answering, and they were off to the next few realms. Through each shift, Natasha was startled at the stark difference in everything from Loki’s voice to his face to the shape of his body; somehow, she wasn’t sure why, she’d expected him to look sort of like a cosplayer – like himself, only with some extra, alien-y doo-das – but each form he showed her was completely removed from his usual self. The only recognizable parts of him were the human clothes and the cadence of his speech.

           And then they came to Jotunheim.

           “You’ll never come into contact to one of them,” Loki commented, his voice suddenly harsher and turned towards an audible sneer.

           Natasha shrugged as if it was no big deal, it wasn’t like this was the reason she’d had him out here for an hour flickering through alien life forms like Katherine Heigl and dresses.

           “So Thor said, but just in case,” she replied.

           Though he still didn’t seem content with the answer and the tightness in his shoulders and face had returned, Loki closed his eyes as the shift began. A cold cobalt started fading in at his fingertips, covering his skin like paint on an artist’s brush; angular ridges began to appear in a slighter darker hue on his forearms, marching downwards like direction signs for his seidr, and as the blue began to overtake his face, similar marks echoed the sharp jut of his high cheekbones and rounded over his brow like the curve of a circlet, and she stared.

 

      Natasha was not one given to poetic descriptions, but at that moment, the only words that made their way into her mind were gemstones and fresh blood.

      "Oh," she breathed in surprise.

      This time, he was Loki. He was a deep, rich blue with scar-like ridges marching over his skin and scarlet eyes that had no white, but the  shape of his face and the lay of his hair and the uneasy twitch of his slender fingers - they were all him. It wasn't, though, like what she had expected. Loki didn't look like a scarred up version of an Avatar or like someone had painted and glued and added red contacts to him; it just fit, like someone has peeled away a false skin to reveal reality. And _damn_. She wasn't about to jump him, but she could think of a lot of people who would.

       "Repulsive, is it not?" he sniffed distastefully.

       "I know there's bad blood between the Aesir and Jotuns, but are you blind?" Natasha demanded, standing.

       She'd slipped her phone into her pocket as soon as he'd closed his eyes, but she paused in front of him to take in the cold radiating off of him like an industrial freezer she'd once locked a man in before moving to touch his skin. He was watching her cautiously, as if, at any moment, he would bolt, and she wondered how many people had seen him like this. _Not many_ was her best guess, what with the way he watched her so intently and the chaotic jumble of emotions that had begun piling up in the small space of mind their bond occupied.

         "Wait - I don't - jotun skin burns," he yelped before her hands had really moved.

         One eyebrow quirked upwards, and Natasha gave him a dubious look as she dropped her hands down on top of his.

          "Then don't burn me," she suggested dryly.

          "I don't spend time in-" he started, breaking off as her fingers touched his rough skin.

          Her fingers burnt stubbornly against the iciness of his flesh, gentle tendrils of flame sliding up his arm before stopping at the bunched up leather of his sleeve.

           "Wow," she murmured, "This is incredible."

          He was still watching her warily, but his face had slipped into an impassive expression that made clear his stress.

          "Steve would kill to draw you like this," Natasha mused, curious as the muscles under his skin shifted in a way not quite like a human's.

           "Thor would kill me on sight," Loki answered, and she was surprised at the resignation attached to that statement.

            He's thought of...? The idea that Loki could have considered showing Thor his natural form was no minor shock, and Natasha let out a slow breath. She had no delusions that Loki would someday walk around in a Jotun form, but if he could stop fearing this shape so much - well, it'd either end his identity crisis and lessen his chaos or go in the opposite direction and start Ragnarok.

            "Thor's your brother, regardless of what you say," she scoffed absently, reaching up to trace the ridges on his face, "He'd just be happy to see you, as always."

            As her hand followed the sharp angles and smooth curve, Loki's gaze remained steady on her face. It was vital, she knew, that she touch and speak to him appropriately at the moment; between his revulsion for this form and his general avoidance of touch, what she did now could be important.

        Rolling up onto her tip toes, she bent his neck gently so that she could reach to kiss the very center of his forehead, right where there was a gap in the inner half-circle of ridges. Against the sensitive skin of her lips, his forehead was numbing, but where the twin lines ascended into his hairline, fire burnt instead.

        "Your mother loved you unconditionally, didn't she? And she knew from the start," she remarked, "Why would Thor be any different? It's not like you stop being Loki just because your skin turns blue."

        His skin began to fade unsteadily back to his sallow tones, and she rocked back into her heels, letting her hands drop to her pockets. His scars were apparent again, and he made no move to hide them as he tugged his jacket sleeves down, his gaze averted.

            "As ever, you mortals are full of naïve folly," Loki sniffed, and she didn't bother contradicting him.

            They started back, him quiet and drawn into himself and her fingers still tingling with the phantom sensation of rough, impossibly cold skin, and it wasn't till they reached the tower that either spoke.

             "Well, SHIELD will be grateful for the information," she remarked.

            "Mm. And they didn't need anything on the Jotnar?" Loki asked skeptically.

            "Like you said, we'll never see any, right?" she replied innocently.

            As she turned towards the elevator, Natasha hid a smirk at the small, grudging seed of pride Loki felt at her deception. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d really tricked the God of Mischief, but it was nice tohave caught him a little by surprise. When she turned to press the button beside the door, his room was locked up once more, having been shut silently as he entered, and she wasn't sure if they'd gotten anywhere now that he was holed up again.

           The next day, though,  she found an old, worn copy of _Coriolanus_ just inside her door, and she smiled.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a lot of referenced crap that probably only makes sense to me because I wrote it at like 12-1 am in several different chunks and I'm worthless at that point.
> 
> First, the blood-siblings thing: in the prequel to this (which has been started for way longer than this one and I will post once it's completely finished), Loki and Natasha accidentally become blood brother/sisters (thus the 'siblings'). It should make more sense when I post the prequel. I really, really, hope.
> 
> all the scars also explained in prequel
> 
> ...and the clothes. I really need to get to work on that thing.
> 
> Shapeshifting, in my headcanons isn't like using a glamour or a spell; it's an innate ability in certain people with about the randomness of mutations in the X-Men, except a little rarer. Since it's a natural ability rather than a spell, Loki can still do it easily with most his magic bound.
> 
> I totally made up all the crap about Vanaheim. Holy shit I know nothing about the Nine Realms.
> 
> "like Katherine Heigl and dresses": reference to 27 Dresses, which is an OK rom-com
> 
> Coriolanus: a) I feel like both Natasha and Loki could appreciate Shakespearean tragedies for a few reasons b) the women (esp. Volumnia, despite being really kind of creepy) are the ones to talk sense into the men and keep Rome from being sacked c) Tom Hiddleston's starring in it at, I believe, the National Theatre (UK). It's actually a pretty good play if anyone's interested in reading it.

**Author's Note:**

> Just because I feel like making people read awesome quotes, I'm clarifying that the title is not one of those 'darkest just before the dawn' things ( ~~because that's total bullshit; I have pulled all-nighters~~ ). It's actually in reference to a marvelous quote from _Kafka on the Shore_ :
> 
> “Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that has nothing to do with you, This storm is you. Something inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up the sky like pulverized bones.” 
> 
> That kind of sums up how I want this series to go, soo... Fingers crossed!


End file.
